"Blessed Shift" by Vin Valentine

Blessed Shift

by Vin Valentine

The soft slaps to my face pull me from the void I’m drifting deeper down into. Tiredness entwined with the pain in my stomach fight me as I struggle to open my eyes slightly. Blurred images appear before me, a white-painted dresser, a wooden key ring mounted to the wall above that, the front door standing ajar. It’s hard to see in the night with the sliver of moon I can see through the tiny window above the door.

A voice calls out to me, sounding like it is coming from underwater. Pressure pushes down on my diaphragm, making it difficult to breathe. I focus my energy to move, to no avail. The pain stabs into me harsher at the attempt, causing me to gasp and lay my head back down with a soft clink on the linoleum I must be lying on. 

“Don’t move, babe. I’ve got you,” Ron assures me as his head comes into view, blocking out the crescent moon in the sky. His shaggy hair looks wet, dangling down just above his eyebrows. The pressure eases a bit, then comes back in a rush. 

What has happened? Since I can’t sit up, I reach around with my right arm. Feeling a sticky, warm liquid with my fingertips by my hips, panic grips my throat. My hand comes up above my face, the black starkly clashing with my pale skin. I groan at the sight, knowing I must be lying on top of such a mess. My job never seems to be done as a stay-at-home wife. 

“Just hold still, Mil,” Ron coaxes from above. 

I realize he is down on his knees, leaning over me. Gritting against the pain, I lift my head a minuscule amount to see why. Ron is crouched down, holding a white towel on top of my pelvic region. A white towel that is now sopping with black, just like my fingertips. My voice rattles in my windpipe as I speak up. 

“Ron, why would you use a white towel to clean up? We’ll have to throw it away now.”

He barks a laugh as he looks up at the ceiling, eyes blinking rapidly. The moon shows me the tear streaks on his face. The pressure lessens for a moment as he wipes his nose with the back of one of his sleeves, then it comes again when his arm goes back down. 

“I don’t give a shit about any towels, Mil,” he says. His voice shakes, the volume of it haphazard as it cracks. It sounds like he is afraid of something. “You’re gonna be all right. I got you, and I took care of him.” Ron says with a quick nod, as if to reassure himself that what he said was one hundred percent true and real. 

“Took care of who?” I whisper. It is hard to breathe. My vision is dimming even further in the darkness. Heart pumping blood at a slower rate, heavy. 

“Shh,” Ron says, casting a glance to his right. 

I clench my teeth against the pain once more, fighting the black dots coming into my vision as I lean my head up further to see what Ron had looked at. Shifting my head to the side so I can see around my giant mound of a baby-growing belly, I see another foot. The sole of a shoe almost touching my own. The black pant leg extends towards the front door. 

“Who—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ron says. “He ambushed you when you came down to check on me, waiting just inside the doorway. If you hadn’t screamed, I wouldn’t have woken up and—” he chokes up. I could see the thick veins pop in his neck as he swallows at the memory. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Why did I fall asleep? I would’ve been at work yesterday anyway!”

“Oh Ron,” I whisper. “It’s all right. You saved us, honey. You got him.”

My own voice softens with each word, growing weaker by the syllable. Guilt must be rending his heart, my poor husband. 

“Save your strength, babe. Just keep your eyes focused on my face, no more talking. Help is on the way,” Ron says as he applies more pressure to the now completely black towel. I stare into his worried eyes, tears pooling in them. He isn’t letting them fall anymore; the anger burns them back before they can. 

“He stabbed you, I don’t know how many times before I could get the gun,” he sobs. “I just wish these guys would get here already! I don’t want to lose you and Bethany. What if—” Ron stops and squeezes his eyes shut at the scenario I know is playing in his head. 

I shift my gaze to the ceiling and whisper to myself a little prayer. Ron can’t hear me as the piercing siren and flashing red and blue lights suddenly appear outside, casting their light through the window and open door. He moves in a staccato illusion as the lights flash all around. I close my eyes; it is too much for my weakened brain to handle. 

I ask God to ease Ron’s pain and guilt. He has done his best to protect his family. There is so much to be thankful for in our happy life together, though it has been rough with him working the night shift for the past four months. I thank God for returning him to the day shift just yesterday. If Ron hadn’t been moved, he would have been at work receiving a very unfortunate phone call instead of making a call himself. Who knows how much worse he would be if that’s what happened? 

I hear him calling my name between siren blares. The red and blue lights are fading. I’m exhausted, but so thankful. Ron is here, and so is God. The bright white light flashes between the red and blue. It’s so beautiful.